I had just moved to a rural community three hours away from home when I made a call to my grandma. I filled her in on my husband’s new job, our home renovation projects, and our plans for the future. She listened and supported as grandmothers do, but her first question was “Who are your neighbors?”

I cringed as I admitted I hadn’t met them yet. 

You see, community is important to my grandma, and it always has been. For as long as I can remember, she has reminisced about picnics, fierce games of pitch, and impromptu neighborhood softball games, where her mother Mabel would serve homemade root beer, straight out of the well she stored it in. It’s a treat that my dad still boasts was “exactly the perfect temperature.”

She tells of the hard times, too: accidents, sickness, and death, neighbors showing up unannounced and being welcomed like family. Armed with casseroles, cakes, and enough fried chicken to make tables sag, they offered tokens of edible love. 

Group texts and Facebook invites were non-existent back then. In good times, and bad, they simply gathered. The magnetic pull of fellowship drew them together—a respite from lives that weren’t easy.

I’ve learned a lot from my grandma through the years, but one of the most powerful lessons she has taught me is the value she places on people. Grandma builds community wherever she goes. From those early days as a young girl in Nebraska’s hill country, to raising her family in the same remote place. Moving on as an empty-nester to a golf course community, then retiring to a condo in town. Now finally, settling into an assisted-living home, her first step has always been getting to know her neighbors.

Life circumstances change, but the lesson is timeless. Community is important, because people matter. Whether we are sharing good news or shouldering burdens, our journey is enriched by those who walk beside us. 

My grandma and I may share blue eyes and a stubborn streak, but as an introvert with a low social battery, I have a tendency to withdraw rather than reach out. I wondered how someone like me could cultivate a feeling of community and belonging for myself, and teach its significance to my two sons. 

It was my sister who mentioned National Good Neighbor Day to me and pointed me toward some simple ideas to celebrate. The permission to keep it simple was like a balm to my reclusive soul. A note, simple gift, and a smile can go a long way to show we care. So as a small gesture of goodwill, my sons and I put together simple bags filled with candy and a note that read, “Thanks for being a great neighbor.”

To my boys, it turned out that if sneaking candy was fun, delivering it was even better. They bounced on their tippy toes, grinning in glee at the doors that opened and the smiles that greeted them. 

They felt it—connection, generosity, and kindness. 

We all learned a bit more about community that day, and the effort was worth it. 

Since then, we have delivered cookies, zucchini bread, and Merry Christmas Chex Mix. Perhaps next time it will be a “perfectly chilled” root beer—a nod to the past, with anticipation of the future.